


A Day at the Seaside

by cest_what



Series: Seaside [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-09
Updated: 2010-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-08 19:31:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cest_what/pseuds/cest_what
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six Hogwarts students on an unexpected holiday. Featuring sand, Arithmancy, boys making out on the beach and a completely uncontextualised kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day at the Seaside

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to [LJ](http://cest-what.livejournal.com/2090.html) July 2006.

"How could she possibly have got _tanned_?"

Harry looked up, his fork halfway to his mouth. Hermione was staring narrow-eyed at the staff table. She could only be talking about Professor Trelawney: partly because the Divination Teacher was the only professor Hermione would ever speak about in that tone, and partly because Trelawney was, indeed, tanned golden brown beneath her flowing robes. She was broadcasting an air of relaxed and benevolent self-satisfaction, talking to a point about six inches above Professor Flitwick's head.

"Probably has a house elf whispering sun spells to her while she sleeps," Ron said, his mouth full of scrambled eggs, and Hermione's mouth tightened. Harry threw Ron a speaking look, because they were going to get a lecture on the misuse of house elves for the rest of breakfast now.

Hermione returned to Trelawney's tan on the way down to the dungeons for their first lesson. "I mean honestly, it's no wonder her lessons are so badly prepared if she spends her time worrying about her tan."

"You don't even take her classes anymore," Harry pointed out. He was distracted because the castle was moving about again.

"Yeah, why should you care if her lessons are badly prepared?" Ron asked. Hermione opened her mouth to reply, and then frowned. The wall in front of them had just shifted for the _third_ time, blocking their way completely. Ron gave it an experimental tap with his wand, and whispered, hopefully, "_Locamotus_," but nothing happened. Hermione tried too, with a sharper inflection, and then tried _Restorus_ and _Alohamora_, but there was no change. Sighing, they shifted bags on shoulders and turned back the way they'd come.

After fifteen more minutes they were definitely lost.

"This is ridiculous." Hermione sounded nonplussed. "I haven't been so badly turned around since first year."

"I guess the castle's in a funny mood," Harry offered. He wasn't feeling as glum about the whole _lost_ thing as he could have been. Snape would probably give them detentions for lateness, but in the meantime, every minute they were lost was another minute they weren't spending in Potions.

Hermione gave him a sideways look, started to say something and then stopped, considering. "It could be," she admitted. "_Hogwarts: A History_ does say the designers infused it with a certain amount of intuition – that's how the spell on the dining room ceiling works – and that's almost like having a personality. In a way."

The staircase they were going down shifted and they found themselves arriving back at the top again. Ron groaned and slumped down against the wall. He blew a couple of copper-coloured strands of hair out of his eyes. "Snape's going to _crucio_ us," he mumbled.

*

Draco was several corridors away from the dining hall before he realised that he'd left his Potions book in the dorm. He sent Goyle back to get it. After a couple of seconds thought he sent Crabbe after him. Surely they couldn't mess up such a simple instruction if there were two of them?

Pansy saw that he was alone and caught up to him, leaving the other two girls she'd been walking with.

"You could have shared mine," she offered diffidently, and Draco realised she must have overheard.

He gave her a look. "Pansy. I took you to the Yule Ball because you were a pureblood. I don't actually _like_ you."

Her lip trembled and for a moment Draco thought he'd succeeded in losing her, but she just shook her dark hair forward to hide her expression. "You don't actually like _anybody_, Draco," she said, and he had to admit she had a point.

She seemed to take his silence for encouragement, since she pushed her hair back again and said, "Although I've seen the way you look at... someone."

Draco's lip curled. "_I've seen the way you look at someone_. What are we, twelve?"

"Do you _really_ want me to say who?" Pansy asked, and Draco narrowed his eyes at her. Then he blinked, looking around.

"Fuck, are we lost?"

*

Harry, Ron and Hermione were examining a wooden door.

"I _think_ it ought to take us through to the dungeons," Hermione said at last, doubtfully. "At least – well, it definitely goes in the right direction, but I'm not – Oh, hello, Luna." She blinked, and Harry looked around to see Luna Lovegood trailing up the corridor. There was an envelope dangling from her hand.

She gave them a vague smile. "Have you found the Potions dungeon?" she asked. "I had a message from McGonagall to Professor Snape, but it's probably too late to deliver it now. She should have owled it, but I suppose she heard about the werewolf attacks."

"The _what_?" Ron demanded.

Luna looked at him. "They've been targeting owls lately," she said simply. "My father published an exposé last month."

"Oh. Ah." Ron looked away. "Hermione, are you planning to open that door?"

Hermione shrugged, and said, "_Alohamora_." The door swung open. It was very dark beyond. "I'm not sure..." Hermione started, but Ron shrugged her off.

"How much more lost can we get?" he asked. "And anyway, you said it has to be the right direction." He stepped through. Hermione scowled at his back, but followed him, muttering about impetuous fools with obvious death wishes and didn't he _know_ there were parts of the castle it was dangerous to just walk into?

Harry turned back towards Luna, and realised with a feeling of unreality that Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson had come up as well, without him hearing them approach. Malfoy looked as though he was in a foul mood, and Pansy wore a long-suffering expression. Malfoy brushed past Harry and Luna without a word, dragging Pansy behind him, and they both disappeared through the doorway.

Harry paused for a moment to let his brain catch up, and then shrugged. "I guess we'd better go too," he said. At least Snape wouldn't be able to give them detentions without giving Malfoy one too. Well, maybe.

*

Ron stepped into darkness, and bit his lip as he felt a familiar dizzy whirl take hold. He _couldn't_ have floo'd without noticing, though, he'd... And then with an "_Unh_," he was stumbling to his knees onto sand. There was bright light glinting off the sand under his hands, and an impossible blue in his peripheral vision, and a dull roaring sound. He pulled himself to his feet, spitting sand out of his mouth, and turned just in time to see Hermione stumble out of the side of a black boulder. He caught her before she could fall.

They stared at each other for a moment. Then somebody else started to fall through the boulder and Ron lunged forward to catch them. There was more momentum than he was prepared for, though, and he stumbled backwards, a warm body sprawling on top of him. For a moment he was too winded to do more than lie there, clutching at the black-robed shoulders above him. Then he became aware of pale blond hair tickling his nose. He looked up to see grey eyes staring at him, startled rather than sneering for once. _Hell_.

He let go and rolled out from under Malfoy. What on earth was he doing here?

Wherever they were.

He got to his feet and looked around, hoping the flush on his face looked like exertion. Malfoy was standing a few feet away, industriously brushing sand off his legs. When he looked up there were two spots of colour on his pale cheeks. For some reason Pansy Parkinson was standing behind him, watching them both with her eyebrows raised. Luna Lovegood was offering a hand to pull Harry up from the beach, and Hermione was giving Ron a quizzical look. Ron pretended he didn't see it.

"This is... this is unreal," Harry said, standing and looking around. Ron twisted around, focusing properly for the first time. They were standing on... on the most _beach_-ish beach he'd ever seen in his life. It looked like the coastline from a postcard of Bali or Hawaii or something, one of those ones where he'd always suspected they magically doctored the colour. Yellow sand stretched endlessly in one direction, shading to icy white up on the dunes, which were capped by riotously growing greenery, and the odd palm tree. In the other direction the scattered boulders increased in number, and the dunes became black cliff, carved into strange shapes by the oncoming tide. The beach curved on that side, twisting round out of sight. There was literally not a cloud in the sky, which was a deep, endless blue, right down to the horizon, where white birds wheeled and dipped into the water. The water was an even intenser blue which became green up closer where the waves crashed. It looked a million miles away from the seashore at Penzance where the Weasleys had gone holidaying a few years ago.

"Oh," Hermione said. "Oh, um... wow."

*

Draco was horrified. He very carefully didn't look at Weasley – the stupid git had probably enjoyed making him uncomfortable – but unfortunately that gave him no choice about looking at the hell-hole they'd landed in.

Draco _did not_ like the seaside. The wind whipped your hair into tangles, the salt water stiffened and crusted the bottoms of your trousers, the sand got in your hair and your shoes and your clothes. And it was hot here. He was decidedly uncomfortable in his tailored black school robes. Weasley and Potter were already enthusiastically stripping off robes and Gryffindor ties. They were wearing Muggle jeans underneath, which was typical of Muggle-lovers and blood traitors. Weasley was struggling with his tie. Draco allowed himself a moment of malicious enjoyment. Then Weasley tugged the tie away from his collar and his untucked shirt rode up exposing a stretch of flat stomach and Draco looked away hurriedly.

"This is so awesome," Weasley said as he tossed his robes and tie on the sand and started on his shoes. Potter grinned back at him.

"I've never been to the seaside before," he admitted. Draco wondered whether this was supposed to make them feel sorry for him – _Poor_ Potter abused by Muggles. God knew _he_ wished he'd never been to the seaside. He wished he wasn't here now.

"Oh, it's brilliant –" Weasley started. Draco cut in.

"Can your family _afford_ holidays to the seaside, then, Weasel?" He raised an eyebrow. "Or holidays at all? I imagined you camping out in your backyard over Summer, three to a camp bed."

Granger cut off Weasley's angry retort. "Ignore him, Ron. He knows you went to Egypt the other year, it was in the Prophet."

"You don't honestly think I read that rag, do you, Granger?"

She gave him a disgusted look, and he belatedly remembered that he'd been getting it delivered as publicly as he could last year, when that Skeeter woman was doing the series on Potter and Granger's sordid love lives.

"But Harry, Ron, _don't_ dash away and.. and swim, or something. We need to work out how we got here," Granger said. She sat down on one of the scattered boulders, drawing her feet in close to her body. Draco was pleased to see that somebody else seemed to be as ill-at-ease in these surroundings as he was. Potter and Weasley had started clowning about, and the moony-eyed Ravenclaw girl was crouched down scrunching her fingers in the sand. Even Pansy had her robes over one arm, although her face was pinched and anxious behind her dark hair. She was wearing a loose long-sleeved fushia top and grey calf-length trousers underneath, which Draco could have told her didn't suit her.

"It was a floo door," Pansy said.

"Oh, of _course_," Granger said. She muttered, "I should have known that."

Pansy lifted her chin. "My aunt had one, to her... to her Squib daughter's cottage."

Draco jumped, and gave her a hard look. Since when did Pansy talk about her Squib cousin?

"It wasn't in the floo network, and Candace couldn't apparate, so my aunt set up the floo door."

"What's a floo door?" Weasley asked the obvious question, although Draco noticed he looked at Granger rather than at Pansy.

"It's a variant on the standard floo system," Granger explained. "I've read about them, but I've never seen one, they're not terribly common. I don't actually know how they work, but they use a doorway rather than a fireplace, which means you don't need powder - it's mortared into the stonework or something - and they open on a timetable like portkeys. They're outside the floo network, so they only have one destination - that's why we didn't have to name where we were going." She frowned. "I still don't know why someone should have set one up in Hogwarts, though."

"Are you crazy?" Weasley asked. "You honestly can't think why someone would have set up a doorway to a tropical beach? I bet it was Fred and George. I'll kill them for not telling me about it."

"Creating a floo door is complex magic," Pansy said. "I seriously doubt your _brothers_ could have done it."

The Ravenclaw girl straightened, apparently oblivious to Weasley's spluttering, and asked, "What kind of timetable?"

"I don't know," Granger admitted. She shifted awkwardly on the rock she was sitting on, and put up a hand to push her hair back. The wind was picking it up and beginning to snarl it around her face. Draco was acutely conscious that it was doing the same to him. He blamed Weasley. If Draco hadn't seen Weasley and Granger go through that blasted door, he'd never have followed. "It could be an hourly cycle, or it could only open every few days. It might not even return from the same spot."

"So we're stuck here?" Potter asked. He grinned. "_Brilliant._"

Pansy stamped her foot in the sand. "I _have_ to get back," she said. "I have a _detention_ this afternoon."

There was a moment's silence. "Blimey," Weasley said, breaking it. "Even Hermione isn't that keen on going to detentions."

Pansy gave him a poisonous look, and Apparated on the spot.

Or at least, that seemed to have been her intention.

There was a _truly_ unpleasant sound, and she reappeared several paces up the beach. But her left leg was still rooted to the spot she'd left from. She teetered on one leg, her face white, while everybody else stood frozen for a second. Then Granger leapt to her feet and pulled out her wand. She whispered a few words, and then Pansy was collapsed on her back in the sand, both legs attached again.

"Bloody hell," Weasley said.

Potter looked at Granger. "Where did you learn to unsplinch people, Hermione?"

"I've seen Madam Pomfrey do it," she explained, putting her wand away.

"I'll bet you could Apparate out of here too, if you tried," Weasley said, and she looked prim.

"I don't mean to try."

She advanced cautiously towards Pansy, who showed no signs of getting up.

Draco turned on his heel, utterly disgusted.

This had to be the worst day of his life. He was stuck out here on this _godforsaken_ beach with Potter and his fanclub, and the only other Slytherin went and fucking _splinched_ herself.

He clambered into the lee of a particularly large boulder. His shoes were full of sand and his tie was tangling round his throat and his robes were sweltering him, and he swore when he found out who had created that damn door, he'd get his father to have them slowly killed.

Unless it turned out to be Weasley's brothers.

_Fuck._ He stamped on the thought. _Especially_ if it turned out to Weasley's brothers. He must have hit his head when he fell through that damn rock.

Pansy caught up with him a few boulders further on. He stopped when he heard her call his name.

"_What?_" he snarled, spinning around. She stepped back.

"My god, you look ugly."

For a moment Draco panicked. He did _not_ look ugly! Then he narrowed his eyes at her.

"Do you have any more exploits lined up, Pansy? Was splinching yourself enough humiliation, or were you planning to crawl on your belly and beg, too?"

"You know I'm on my last trial in Transfiguration, Draco," she said, watching him carefully. "After failing that exam... if I miss this detention, Whiskers will kick me out."

"And obviously splinching yourself was the _best_ way to fix that. You're embarrassing, Parkinson."

"Oh, please." She pushed her hair back and fixed him with a scornful look. "After your fumbling match with Weasley earlier? Be careful who you call _embarrassing_, Malfoy."

He caught a glimpse of her lip trembling in her white face, and then she turned on her heel.

*

Hermione sat with her satchel balanced on her knee. The truth was that she was never all that easy in out-door settings. Especially ones as... unpredictable as this.

She eyed the encroaching waves.

Harry and Ron had nicked off while she was trying to convince Pansy Parkinson to get up off her back. They'd asked if she wanted to come, but she'd said she'd prefer to stay there and try to work out when the floo door would open again. Then Pansy had gone after Draco. Hermione didn't know where Luna was, she seemed to have wandered off while Pansy was splinching herself.

She got up, slipping on the sand a bit, and pressed a hand to the side of the boulder they'd come through. It was quite definitely solid, just like all the other times she'd tried. She wiped her hand on her jeans – the rocks were made of some sort of soft black stuff that came off on your hands. Then, feeling slightly pointless, she scrambled awkwardly over to some other rocks and pressed her hand against them too, just in case.

She wasn't sure what she'd do if the door _did_ open again. Everyone had scattered. Maybe she could slip through and let a teacher know where they were? But that felt a bit too much like abandoning Harry and Ron and Luna, and anyway she didn't actually know where they were.

She walked back to her satchel, but there was a crab on it. Just a little tiny crab, scrabbling sideways across the top of her Arithmancy textbook. If she'd come across it during Care of Magical Creatures she felt she would have known what to do with it. Out here... she stared at it, fascinated, and finally got out her wand and levitated it onto the sand. Then she picked up her satchel and sat down again. The crab turned in a circle for a moment, working out where it was.

"You're such a witch," a voice said behind her. She turned to see Pansy coming towards her. She walked on the sand with an easy sliding step, her black school shoes in her hand. Hermione had never noticed how gracefully she moved before – that awkward trick she had of shaking her hair over her eyes disguised it. She was doing it now. "Most Mudbloods would have used their hands," she explained.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the other girl. "Don't call me that."

"What? Oh." Pansy shrugged, looking out at the waves through her hair. "I didn't mean it as an insult."

"You didn't?"

Pansy shrugged again.

After a moment Hermione asked, unwillingly, "Are you feeling OK?" She wasn't sure that she cared (how could you not mean 'Mudblood' as an insult?), but she felt a sort of proprietal interest in Pansy's recovery, since she'd healed her.

"Fine," Pansy said. And she turned a surprisingly speculative gaze towards her.

"And, um... you didn't find Malfoy?"

Pansy immediately looked back out towards the crashing surf. (Was it getting closer?) "I found him," she said. "He's _pathetic._"

"Really?" Hermione asked, startled. "I mean, yes. That is..."

Pansy didn't seem to notice. "I'm probably the closest thing he has to a friend, you know?"

"Are you?" Hermione asked, fascinated despite herself. "What about - um, Crabbe and Goyle?"

"Oh, please, Granger." Pansy looked at her. "Vincent and Gregory aren't even human." She rolled her eyes. "I bet they haven't even found Draco's book yet. He only still keeps them hanging around because of you."

Hermione choked. "_What_?"

Pansy wrinkled her nose. "Malfoys have to be the _best_, you see," she said, heavily sarcastic. "At everything. Draco can just about stand Ravenclaws being smarter than he is, because they don't have any other purpose, but you're a Gryffindor. Famous for being brave and stupid. And a Mudblood, of course. And the only thing he's better at than you is flying, and that's hardly any use when your Harry Potter is whizzing about beating him in every game. He keeps Vincent and Gregory near him so that he can always feel a thousand times smarter than _somebody_."

"Oh."

"Well, and they're good for beating up people for him, of course. And they always do what he tells them. But most people in our common room do that now anyway, even some of the sixth and seventh years."

Hermione stared at her. "Why do you _like_ him?" she burst out.

"I don't," Pansy said fiercely.

"Oh. Right. I should, um... check the rock again." She made her way over to the boulder, conscious of Pansy watching her.

"You're not very comfortable on the beach, are you?" the Slytherin girl said, and Hermione turned, wiping her hands on her jeans. Pansy had that odd speculative look in her dark eyes again, behind the fall of hair.

"I'm, um... No. Not really. I've been to the Côte d'Azur a couple of times, with my parents, but... usually I just read a book," she admitted.

Pansy's mouth moved into a tiny, secretive smile, and she turned her face away.

*

"This is _brilliant_," Harry said, for the fifth time, and Ron grinned and flicked seaweed at him. They both had their jeans rolled up, and their shirts had gotten pretty damp too. Ron had left his shoes with Hermione and their bags, but Harry had his slung around his neck with the laces tied together, and they thunked against his chest as he walked, getting wet sand all over his white school shirt. "Do you realise we could be in Potions right now?"

"Being lectured by Snape, I know. Hey, does that rock remind you of him?"

Harry squinted where he was pointing. You could sort of imagine the Potions Master's hooked nose and greasy forehead in the shape of the boulder outlined against the sky. "Race you to it," Ron said, and instantly took off. Harry tore after him, knowing that he'd lose and not caring.

Ron beat him, of course, and by the time Harry came up he'd thrown himself down into the shadow of Snape's nose. Harry doubled over, panting.

"I reckon," Ron said speculatively, "that we're in Australia."

Harry hadn't even though about it. He knew they weren't in Great Britain. Ron frowned. "Except that there are palm trees. Are there palm trees in Australia?"

Harry didn't know. He couldn't say he'd thought about Australia an awful lot. "Hermione would know," he said. He glanced around, not much caring, and offered, "Could be South America."

He spotted a figure some way down the beach, picking up seashells. Blond hair glinted in the sunlight, and since the figure was the wrong height to be Malfoy – and anyway he couldn't imagine Malfoy picking up seashells – he waved his arm and called, "Hey! Luna!"

"Don't do that!" Ron yelped, rolling to sit up. "Oh, damn, she heard you. She's coming over."

"Oh." Harry lowered his arm guiltily. "She's not that bad."

"She's _weird_. All that stuff about werewolves and owls, and her dad's conspiracy rag. And she stares at people. It's not polite."

Harry snorted, because since when did Ron care about polite?, but Luna was coming up so he didn't answer.

"The shells are different here," she said, as soon as she was in earshot.

"Oh, right. Are they?" Harry asked.

"I don't think Ronald Weasley likes me much, does he?" she added calmly, looking over his shoulder, and Harry turned around to see Ron melting away between the rocks. The coward.

"Um. I'm not sure," he said, turning back to Luna. She smiled at him. "Do you want to see these seashells?" she asked. "They're scattered all along the waves. I think we're in Fiji, by the way."

"Sure," Harry said. He followed her down to the water's edge.

*

Draco had sand in his shoes. He felt as though he had half the beach in there, actually. And he was dying of heat exhaustion. Taking off his shoes and robes meant giving in to the elements, but he was _dying_. He vacillated for a moment, and then gave up in a rush and tore his robes off. The generous-sleeved white shirt beneath was dark with sweat, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. It was still too hot too, and the sun was beating down, so he slung the robes over his head in a sort of peasant-woman veil. Then he sat down in the hot sand and took his shoes and socks off. He turned them upside down and a fountain of sand fell out, forming a little heap next to his foot. His feet were hot. Maybe he could – just wet them. A little bit. If he rolled his trousers well up first so they were out of the way of the water...

He made up his mind and got to his feet. He was scrambling around the side of the massive walrus-shaped rock which currently blocked his view of the waves, when somebody tackled him. He fell to the sand with an _oomph_. What the...? And then, as copper-red hair fell into his eyes and he felt a long body against him – Oh. _Weasley._

Weasley blinked the hair out of his eyes, squinting at him in surprise. "Why've you got your robes on your head?" he asked.

Draco ignored this. "Are you planning to make a habit of this, Weasley?" he snarled instead, and the other boy pushed himself up onto his elbows, red-faced.

_Damn. Didn't mean to make him move away._

"I thought... I thought you were Harry. I thought he'd managed to get rid of Luna."

He rolled to the side, and Draco just managed to keep himself from making a sound of distress at the loss.

"Is that the bug-eyed Ravenclaw's name?" he asked instead. "Fitting, she looks totally loony." He pushed himself to his feet, pulling the peasant-woman robes from his head. He looked at Weasley, who was still flushed, and let a smirk into his voice. "I'm not even going to ask what you and Potter do in your spare time, if you jumped on top of me because you thought I was him."

Weasley flushed even redder, and suddenly Draco really was picturing him rolling around in the sand with Potter. Shit, _was_ that what they got up to in their spare time?"

He pushed the image away. He was not going to get a hard-on in front of Weasley; and anyway, he didn't even like that image much. If he put himself in instead of Potter... No. Stop that thought right there.

"I was only... It wasn't..." Weasley flexed his fingers in irritation and turned away. "Harry would have got it," he said.

"Well." Draco gingerly massaged his shoulder. He'd fallen on it awkwardly. "I'm not Harry, am I?"

Weasley snorted. "Is that a joke?"

Draco leaned back against the walrus-boulder. Weasley didn't seem to be leaving. Why was that?

"So what _is_ the nature of your relationship with Potter, then?" he drawled, after another minute had passed and Weasley still wasn't leaving.

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"No, I'm curious. There must be some reason he keeps you hanging around. It can't be your connections. Or your personality."

"Just shut up."

"Or your conversational skills." He shrugged, elegantly. "I guess you must give good head."

Weasley growled in his throat and sprang around, pinning him up against the rock. Draco stilled immediately. With a curious hitch in his throat he realised that this was what he'd been baiting him for. He'd been secretly hoping Weasley would do exactly this.

*

"I've been going around this a really stupid way," Hermione said suddenly. "You said I think like a witch, but I haven't been at all."

Pansy looked at her.

"I don't _need_ to get up every three minutes to check the doorway," Hermione explained. "I can just set up an alarm field for any magical activity in a certain radius - Professor Vector showed us how last year. That will pick up the doorway when it reopens, and it will show us where it is, too, in case it's not in the same place when you're coming from this direction."

"I wondered when you'd start trying with magic," Pansy admitted, examining her fingernails.

Hermione glared at her. "You could have said something," she said, getting her wand out. Pansy gave her another of those odd looks, where Hermione wasn't sure what she was thinking, and she shrugged.

"I was enjoying watching you scramble about."

Hermione was a little hurt. For some reason she'd almost forgotten that a Slytherin and a Gryffindor were natural enemies.

"How big do you want the perimeter?" Pansy asked, getting to her feet, and Hermione concentrated on the job at hand.

"Just out to that line of seaweed should be enough," she guessed, and Pansy used her wand to draw a rough circle starting from there. It curled around over the sand and a short way up the dune; she had to edge past a couple of palm trees that had grown together to make a twisted arch. Hermione concentrated on remembering the equation for the spell, noticing that Pansy didn't slip on the sand the way she did. She shook her head, focusing on the boundary Pansy had marked, and traced the figures in the air.

"Has it worked?" Pansy asked.

"I don't know. Try some magic."

The Slytherin stepped inside the circle and whispered, "_Lumos_." The sunshine was too bright to see the glow on the end of her wand, but blue static sparkled in the air for a second, around it. "Guess so," Pansy said, putting her wand away.

"It feels strange to cast a spell with someone else," Hermione said, sitting down again. "Usually I'd be doing it with Harry or Ron."

"Are you and Potter... you know?" She saw Hermione's startled eyes and added, "Because everyone thinks you are."

"No! Does everyone really...?"

"What about Weasley?"

Hermione pressed her lips together. "Can't I be friends with someone without any of that? And if it comes to it, what about you and Malfoy?"

Pansy shook her hair forward again, hiding another secret smile. "There are a couple of obstacles to that," she said.

*

Draco held himself as still as he could. After a moment Weasley relaxed his grip a little, looking adorably confused.

"You - you're not struggling, Malfoy," he said.

Draco gave up and kissed him.

He didn't even think about it. But Weasley's mouth was right there, and he was biting an indent into his bottom lip, and his face was flushed, and Draco couldn't honestly have stopped himself. Weasley froze in astonishment, but Draco hardly cared. He licked the other boy's lip – he tasted of salt water – and clenched his hands in Weasley's shirt. Then Weasley's mouth fell open and he was, astonishingly, kissing back. Hard.

Draco heard himself groan – damn, but that was undignified – and he pushed closer, exploring Weasley's mouth, his hand shifting its position on Weasley's collar.

Weasley pulled back, panting. "You really aren't Harry," he said, and Draco went cold. Fuck. He was fucking comparing the way he and Potter kissed.

"Harry would never have done _that_," Weasley said, and pulled Draco's mouth back again.

*

"See?" Luna held up the spiral skeleton of a shell for Harry to see, and he tried again. It looked like a shell. "We don't get them this colour in Britain," Luna said.

"Oh?" And then, feeling that hadn't been enough, "It's very nice."

"Yes, isn't it?" Luna agreed, and walked into the waves.

"Hey!" Harry stared, dumbfounded, as she dropped the shell and kept walking. "Hey! _Luna!_"

There was no help for it. He threw his shoes on the sand and tore off his school shirt. As he splashed his way after her she dropped out of sight, under an incoming wave.

"_Luna!_"

He tore after her, tripping and falling forwards and getting a mouthful of seawater. He looked around frantically. Hadn't she gone down here? He could barely see a thing through his water-speckled glasses.

She popped up, slicking the draggled hair out of her face. Her pale hair had turned a wet grey colour. "What?" she asked, blinking at him.

Harry panted, relief nearly buckling his knees. A wave jostled against him. "What were you doing?" he demanded when he could speak.

She looked puzzled. "I was just swimming, Harry. The water's warmer here than at home, too. I think it may be something the shells excrete."

"What? Ugh." Harry shook his head. "Luna, you're dressed. You've still got your robes on. You've still got your _shoes_ on."

She opened her eyes very wide. "I wasn't going to get _undressed_ in front of you, Harry."

Harry grinned, slowly. "There is a difference between taking your shoes off and getting undressed, you know," he said.

The water _was_ warm, though, and now that he was in it was actually kind of nice. So long as you kept an eye on the waves and didn't get dunked. Luna dived again, the wet black robes streaming around her ankles, and kicked water in his face. He spluttered and waited until she'd come back up and then returned the favour. She squeaked and dived again, grabbing his ankle, and he fell with a cut-off shout. When he came up again, gulping for air, she pushed the wet grey hair out of her silver eyes, smiled serenely and asked him if he knew he looked like a fish.

*

Malfoy's eyes slid shut, and Ron twisted and bit his earlobe.

"_Fuck._" Malfoy snapped them open again.

Ron grinned, pulling back for a second. "You have pretty eyes," he said.

"Oh." Malfoy blinked, his eyes flicking up to meet Ron's for a second and then falling back down to his mouth.

God, he was so pretty. Part of Ron knew that he was going to wake up tomorrow morning and want to kill himself, because this was _Malfoy_ and he was twisted and shallow and vindictive and quite possibly evil, but most of him just wanted Malfoy's mouth back.

Malfoy snaked a hand around his neck before he could act on the desire, and pulled him in close again. There was sand in his hair when Ron tugged his fingers through it, and he tasted grainy sand on Malfoy's top lip. He looped a couple of fingers through the knot of the green Slytherin tie and tugged, and Draco made a muffled sound against his mouth that sounded like a curse. He freed his own hand from Ron's shirt and reached up to work the tie undone. Ron thumbed his shirt collar and there was sand there too, where the tie had been, and then he let his fingers slip down and undid the top button. He worked his way down Malfoy's neck, tasting traces of salty sand and sweat.

The other boy seemed suddenly galvanized. He tore at the buttons on Ron's shirt, pushing it off his shoulders, and the cool hand slipping into the space between his stomach and the waistband of his jeans was enough of a shock to startle Ron back to some semblance of sanity.

He stepped back, and when Malfoy hissed and tried to pull him in again he stepped back again, pulling out of Malfoy's hands.

"What the _fuck_?" Malfoy demanded, and Ron saw that his mouth was open and he was breathing too fast and he looked spitting mad but also – was he imagining it? – also kind of hurt. He must be imagining it, though. Malfoy didn't have emotions. Not normal ones, anyway.

"I just thought... maybe we should... talk."

Malfoy groaned and slid down the rock. His hands tangled in his fine hair. "We never talk, Weasley," he said to his knees. "I insult your family and you call me an evil git and try to punch me."

Ron rested his head against the walrus' tale. He was still too turned on to be doing this, he thought resentfully. Never mind that it had been him and not Malfoy who'd pulled away.

"Well, that's my point," he said. "You don't even like me, and now you're..."

"Snogging you stupid?" Malfoy asked, lifting his head and fixing Ron with a direct look. Ron waited for him to add something like, 'Oh, wait, you've always been stupid, haven't you?' He didn't.

"Um. Yeah."

"Look, is there any way we can just skip this conversation, and go back to making out against the rock?"

"But I don't get why you _want_ to!" Ron burst out.

Malfoy got to his feet, slowly, and walked towards him. He trailed his fingers over Ron's shoulder, feather light, and then further down his shoulder blade, and Ron shuddered. "Can we just assume that I do?" Malfoy asked, low-voiced.

"Uh," Ron said. He hoped he wouldn't have to finish that sentence, because he didn't think he could speak very well, but Malfoy seemed to decide that was good enough. He grabbed the back of Ron's head, jerking him back down to his mouth.

And really, Ron hadn't wanted to have that conversation anyway.

*

Hermione gave Pansy a sidelong look.

"Why aren't you worrying about your detention anymore?" she asked eventually.

Pansy retreated behind her hair.

"It's too late now," she said. "I'll have missed it. Whisk- McGonagall will probably kick me out of Transfiguration."

"Wh-_what?_" Hermione stared at her, horrified. "You don't mean it?"

Pansy smiled a little. "It's not as bad as all that, Granger."

"It sounded like it was, earlier," Hermione said, and Pansy bit her lip.

"It's not... the _best_ thing to happen this year. I failed my final last year, by the skin of my teeth, and McGonagall let me back in on probation, because it's my OWL year. Now that I've skipped this detention..."

"Well, that's just silly," Hermione said angrily. "Why did you get yourself a detention when you were already on probation?"

"Please, Granger. This is not part of the fantasy."

Hermione blinked. "What?" But Pansy didn't answer, and Hermione was already distracted by something else. "How did you fail the final?" she asked. "You're not... you're not stupid."

"Oh, god. _No_, Granger, I'm not stupid. You don't have to be stupid to be bad at a subject, you know. Especially one taught by a tight-mouthed old cat who hasn't had sex since 1942." She saw Hermione's expression. "_Sorry_. I know she's your head of house."

"Yes, well," Hermione said primly. "I can't imagine Snape _ever_ having sex, so I suppose we're even."

Pansy gave a surprised snort of laughter which momentarily fluffed the hair away from her face.

Hermione bit her lip, hesitating. "I was going to say, though... If Professor McGonagall doesn't exclude you, I could... tutor you, if you'd like. I'm quite... I'm good at Transfiguration."

Pansy blew her breath out in half a laugh. "Is there anything you're not good at, Granger?"

"Flying, as you said. And you haven't answered."

Pansy turned to look at her directly. "Why did you unsplinch me, Hermione?"

"_What?_ What kind of question is that?"

Pansy shrugged. "You could have left me for a bit. You could..." she scowled, "you could have watched me squirm a bit."

"I'm not a _monster_."

"Right. I forgot. Gryffindor honour." She was tight-voiced for some reason, as though she was upset. Hermione suddenly felt as though they were having two entirely different conversations. Or as though she'd taken one step and ended up waist-deep in water.

"Pansy..."

There was a crackle of blue sparks, and she looked down with a start. A square of sand had rearranged itself into a clear window, and Professor McGonagall was looking up at them. She coughed, sharply, to be sure they were both paying attention.

"Miss Granger, Miss Parkinson. I trust you have enjoyed your unexpected vacation."

"Ye-yes, Professor," Hermione said. "That is – it wasn't intentional."

"I'm quite aware of that, Miss Granger."

"Oh. And you know... you know what the floo door was for?"

The Deputy Headmistress pressed her lips together and muttered something about staff members with private holiday parks.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. _Trelawney._ She was sure of it.

"We have ascertained that the door will open again in precisely twenty eight minutes," McGonagall added. "I ask that all of you arrange to be near it at that time. It apparently takes the form of two palm trees twisted together to form an arch."

Hermione's eyes flickered sideways. She'd noticed those two earlier when Pansy was sliding past them – one of them had grown at a strange angle, so it was intertwined with the other one. She bit her lip. They were just _outside_ the alarm field.

"Yes, Professor. We'll be there."

"Good. Oh, and, Miss Parkinson. I have rescheduled your detention for the same time tomorrow. Please endeavour to remain within the country for it next time." She disappeared, and the sand flowed black.

Pansy drew in a breath. "I guess I'm not being chucked out," she said.

"I'm glad." Hermione smiled at her in relief, and Pansy coloured slightly.

Hermione got to her feet, carefully, and looked around. "I don't know how we're going to find everybody," she worried. "Maybe we could send up red sparks?" But actually there were two people coming up the beach, she saw now. When they got closer she realised that they were Harry and Luna and – her eyebrows shot up – they were both soaking wet. Harry was laughing about something. He was also bare chested. His sandy shirt and tie were swinging in one hand, and his shoes were slung around his neck. His hair was wet and sticking up in all directions, and his glasses were askew. Luna was squelching along in wet shoes, with her waterlogged robes flapping about her legs. She smiled sunnily at Hermione as they came up, and then turned and kissed Pansy full on the mouth. Pansy froze for a second, and then kissed her back, her hands fastening in a startled fashion onto Luna's wet black robes.

*

Harry stared. He'd been in the middle of a cheery hallo to Hermione, but it trailed off as he watched Luna snog Pansy Parkinson. He was fairly sure they couldn't have even met before.

"Um." He looked at Hermione, who looked as shell-shocked as he was. "I, ah... I might go look for Ron," he said.

Hermione jumped up. "I'll come with you," she said hastily. "We need to - we need to get everyone together anyway. McGonagall contacted us, and the floo door's going to open in less than half an hour."

They'd only gone beyond the first boulder when Pansy caught them up. She had hectic patches in her cheeks, and she seemed to be avoiding Hermione's eye.

Luna came serenely behind. After a moment Harry slowed a bit to let her catch up.

"Why did you... do that?" he asked. She turned wide eyes on him.

"I wanted to," she said simply.

Harry shut up. Was it as simple as that? You kissed someone just because you wanted to? Harry didn't think he could ever pull that off.

Maybe it only worked if you looked at the world through Luna Lovegood's eyes.

There was a massive boulder ahead that looked a bit like a walrus. When they walked around it they found Ron and Malfoy shirtless, breathlessly making out against the black surface of the rock.

*

Draco's eyes fluttered open. For half a second he stared over Weasley's shoulder.

"_Aargh!_" He rolled sideways, and Weasley cursed, caught off balance, and then followed Draco's line of sight.

"Oh, fuck," he said.

"Hallo, Ron," Harry Potter said, his voice a bit higher than usual.

"Oh god, Harry - Hermione - this is -" Weasley ran a hand through his hair, his face scarlet.

"Did we get you at a - a bad time?" Potter asked. His voice broke on the last word, and then he was laughing helplessly. His shoulders shook. Draco looked past him to Granger, who was biting her lip and staring, and to the loony fourth year who was frowning at something on the horizon, and finally to Pansy behind them. There was a slow, wicked smile growing on her mouth, and she shook her head at him and mouthed something. He didn't get what it was, but he could guess the general gist. She was _never_ going to let this slide.

"Come - come on," Potter managed eventually. "The door's going to open again in a few minutes."

Standing huddled with the others next to the two deformed palm trees, Draco wondered whether he should just _Avada Kedavra_ a mirror and finish himself off now, because there was no way his life was going to be worth living once this got out. Fuck, a Gryffindor. A _Weasley_. Then Ron took his hand and squeezed it, and Draco nearly jumped a mile. He glanced across at Weasley, who gave him a sheepish grin and a shrug – _What's the harm now?_ Draco relaxed, slightly, and left his hand there.

Pansy was making throwing up motions behind her hand. She stopped when she felt Granger's eyes on her.

That was interesting.

The space between the palm trees opened into blackness, and they stepped out of the sunshine, the sand still sticking to their feet.


End file.
